


Neighbors

by Almost_Convinced_I_Am_Real



Series: Suburban Robots [2]
Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Attempt at Humor, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almost_Convinced_I_Am_Real/pseuds/Almost_Convinced_I_Am_Real
Summary: New neighbors move into the house right next to Thomas and Guy-Man’s. Neighbors with children. Children who think robots are very exciting indeed. Shenanigans inevitably ensue.------------------------------“Do you know how to cut hair?”Ceasing what he’s doing, Guy-Man turns his head to look at René. She’s sitting on the kitchen table, dangling her legs back and forth whilst wearing an innocent smile.“Maybe,” he says warily. “Why?”René inclines her head and draws her shoulders up to her ears. She attempts to press her lips together to hide her growing smile, but it doesn’t fool him. He knows the face of mischief when he sees it.





	Neighbors

Guy-Man taps the pen against the table in a steady rhythm. He’s spent close to two hours working on this particular piece in front of him, and yet it feels like he’s not a single step closer to finishing it. He tiredly rests his head in his hand, his fingers pressing against his helmet as if they were scratching is scalp. On the floor, Flute strokes against his leg, purring so loudly she’s starting to sound like an electric razor.

“Not now, Flute. I’m busy,” he says while, as a precaution, pulling his chair closer to the table so there won’t be enough space for her to lie in his lap, would she decide to jump onto it. After a moment’s consideration, she hops onto the table instead, takes a seat right on the paper, and rubs her head against his face. He lets out a low, drawn-out groan, and leans back in his chair. Flute counters by placing her front paws on each of his shoulder, then licks his visor.

“Aww!”

In his peripheral, Guy-Man spots Thomas as he enters their house through the kitchen door. He laughs as he sets his bag on the counter.

“Remove this _monster_ from my vicinity,” Guy-Man grumbles.

“How can you even say that?” Thomas asks. He drums his fingers against the tabletop to catch Flute’s attention. He tiny head darts between the two. Finally, she decides Thomas is the better option, and goes to crawl up into his arms. He gently caresses her beneath her chin. “You should you know by now she doesn’t give up. Pet her for a few minutes and she’ll leave by her own accord.”

Guy-Man fold his arms tightly over his chest. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I won’t lose a battle of endurance against a damn cat.”

Thomas silently stares at him for the longest time. Guy-Man knows what he’s thinking, and yes, he too realizes how ridiculous he’s being. But to be perfectly honest, he started it and he will finish it. It’s a matter of principle, really.

“Anyway,” Thomas at last says. “It seems the new neighbors have arrived.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I saw a strange car parked on their driveway, boxes and bags surrounding it.” He pauses to let Flute, who’s begun to wiggle uncomfortably, down on the floor. She speeds off into the living room, flipping around the carpet as she goes. Thomas turns to send the door a contemplative look. “Did you bring in the post?”

“Hours ago,” Guy-Man says, returning to his work. “Only a bunch of advertisements.”

Thomas hums, sounding almost disappointed, as he continues to intensely watch the door as if he tried to set it on fire by mere thought. Guy-Man looks up from his papers again, somewhat perplexed by his partner’s reaction.

“Why’re you asking?”

“I was thinking of using it as an excuse… You know, go out to check the post the next time they’re outside, maybe say ‘hello’…”

He slowly trails off, shrugging ambivalently. Guy-Man props one elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand.

“Well. Here’s a radical idea: why don’t you just go out and say ‘hello’?”

Thomas makes another vague gesture.

“I wanted to have our introductions be a bit more natural.”

It’s Guy-Man’s turn to stare incredulously.

“Can you _hear_ yourself?”

“I mean-”

“I _know_ what you mean. You’re overthinking it.”

Humming, Thomas walks over to the window. Pulling the curtain slightly aside, he spies out towards the neighboring yard like a reverse peeping tom.

“I don’t want them to think we’re odd…” he mumbles

“We _are_ odd,” Guy-Man says as he inwardly snickers at his partner’s bizarre behavior.

“Maybe I can ask if they want help to carry anything? Or is that too intrusive…”

“No, it sounds great. I’m sure they’ll be grateful.”

He’s just about to turn back to his work, when Thomas makes a surprised noise. In a second he’s out the door and on his way to the new neighbors’ house. It doesn’t take long for Guy-Man’s curiosity to get the better of him and he follows, though not before Flute shoots like a bullet between his legs and onto their lawn, nearly making him fall. Damn cat.

Outside, Thomas has not only greeted the new neighbors – a woman with dark hair in a ponytail and three children of varying ages – but is also in the process of giving the woman a friendly hug. After disengaging from the embrace, the woman smiles and waves at Guy-Man. Ah, that explains it.

“Camille,” he says as he approaches them. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Neither did I,” she says with a laugh. “We’ve been house-searching for months now.” She casts a quick glance at the kids standing behind her. They’re all as dark as she is, the oldest looking about thirteen, and the younger two roughly seven or eight. Twins, Guy-Man guesses. “You know how it is nowadays. But, we persisted, and we found this. Good price in a respectable area. At least, that’s what the real estate agent told me.”

“And he was right!” Thomas assures her. “Very calm, mostly families with small children populating the neighborhood… Truly, we’re the most unorthodox people you’ll meet in a few miles’ radius.” He motions to himself and Guy-Man with a chuckle.

Camille is about to reply, but interrupts herself before she’s even begun to look down at the ground. One of the twins, the girl, is clinging to Camille’s leg, her large, brown eyes gawping with an intensity only a child can muster.

“You can say ‘hi’ if you want to,” Camille says, patting the girls back as encouragement. Not that she seems to need it. The child skips forward, does a neat curtsy, then eagerly extends her hand.

Kneeling, Thomas grasps and shakes it.

“Hello,” he says, his voice making it clear he’s absolutely delighted. “My name’s Thomas, and this is Guy-Manuel. It’s nice to meet you!”

Beaming, the girl draws her shoulders up to her ears and coyly averts her gaze.

“She’s always shy in the beginning. You should enjoy her silence while it lasts,” Camille says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “In a moment, she’ll be talking everyone’s ears off.”

“Will you tell us your name?” Thomas asks gently.

The girl shuffles her feet, still not looking at his face.

“Séra,” she whispers.

“And over there is Sacha,” Camille says, gesturing to the male twin that’s sitting on the front steps to their new house. He’s quietly resting his face in the palms of his hands, his expression thoughtfully morose. “And this is-”

“René,” the final as well as oldest one interjects, stepping forward to offer her hand like her sister did. She’s definitely a teenager, having both the pitch and the posture of one. Her dark hair is long, cascading out from beneath a well-worn baseball cap, reaching as far as her hips. Her face is calm, but forcedly so, and not enough to hide her curiosity. “Nice to meet you. Sooo… How do you know each other?”

“Your mother is our veterinarian,” Thomas says.

Camille purses her lips. “Aw. Here I thought I was your friend.”

* * *

Camille and the kids integrate into the neighborhood rather well over the next few days, which isn’t at all surprising, seeing as the whole family is quite pleasant. Guy-Man, at least, has dealt with worse neighbors in his lifetime. Not that he deals with them that often anyway. A wave is exchanged if they’re outside at the same time. Every now and again, he stops to chat with Camille, and sometimes even Séra. Camille really wasn’t exaggerating about the girl – she’s a bona fide chatterbox, as opposed to her brother, who more often than not is dragged around by the wrist by his more outgoing twin. René, in contrast to both of them, sometimes only speaks a short sentence or two to Thomas, and even more rarely Guy-Man, whenever they pass each other on the street.

Honestly, out of the three of them, the one who gets the most exposure to the new neighbors is Flute. Looking out the window to see any of the kids sitting on their front yard, petting a very satisfied black cat, soon becomes a daily occurrence.

That’s why it’s such a surprise to Guy-Man when he, one afternoon, opens the front door and sees René stand on their porch.

“What’s up,” she says.

“Not much,” he replies, still a bit confounded as to why she’s there. “What can I do for you?”

René shrugs. “I’m bored. Mom said I should go bother someone who isn’t her, so here I am. Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure.”

He steps aside to let her enter, which she does with obvious enthusiasm. Her head darts around the room, taking in every nook and cranny of the kitchen.

“Thomas isn’t home…” Guy-Man slowly trails off the sentence as he goes to gather the documents he was working on into a straight-ish bundle. He _still_ hasn’t finished the blasted thing.

“That’s okay, you’ll do,” René says dismissively. She disappears into the living room, but quickly sticks he head back into view. “Can I look around your house?”

“No.”

“What if I promise not to open anything that’s closed?”

“No.”

“Okay…” Sauntering into the kitchen, she heaves herself up onto the table. “How long have you guys lived here?”

“Years,” Guy-Man says while turning his back to her to continue writing by the counter instead.

“How long have you had Flute?”

“A few months.”

“How’d you get her? Did you adopt her from some place?”

He would've snorted. “She adopted us.”

René hums pensively. “We’ve been asking mom for a dog, but she says we’re not responsible enough for one yet. We can have a hamster, but it’s not the same thing, so we’re gonna try to wear her down for a while longer.”

“Mmhmm,” Guy-Man says, trying to concentrate on his work.

“You know, I’ve never met a robot before.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you really a robot, or are you just a weirdo in a suit?”

Thumping the pen onto the counter, Guy-Man turns to send René a long stare. She meets it head-on, eyebrows raised and waiting for an answer. Guy-Man sighs, expelling an unusual amount of air from his vents.

“I’m a real robot.”

“Can you prove it?”

“What? How would I prove that?”

“Do you have hatch in your back that reveals a lot of kegs or wires?” She gasps. “Can I look inside you?!”

“No!”

He returns to his papers again. René doesn’t say anything else for a long while. In fact, the silence stretches on for so long Guy-Man begins to wonder if she’s left without him noticing. But then…

“Do you know how to cut hair?”

Once again ceasing what he’s doing, Guy-Man turns his head to look at René. She’s still sitting on the kitchen table, dangling her legs back and forth whilst wearing an innocent smile.

“Maybe,” he says warily. “Why?”

René inclines her head and draws her shoulders up to her ears. She attempts to press her lips together to hide her growing smile, but it doesn’t fool him. He knows the face of mischief when he sees it.

“Weeeeeell…” She stretches the word with a sing-songy tone, innocuously looking up at the ceiling. “I’ve been wanting to cut mine, but mom says no. I thought, if you know how-”

“I won’t help you with something your mother objects to,” Guy-Man instantly cuts her off.

She groans loudly.

“Come oooon… Please? I’m so tired of it! It’s too long and unmanageable…”

“Sorry, René. I can’t help you.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but before she has the time the door opens and Thomas walks in.

“Oh, René! Hello!” he says.

Her face, which had almost knitted itself into an impressive scowl, splits into a smile.

“Hi!” she says, cheerful once more.

“Nice to see you here. You’re having a nice chat?”

Shrugging one shoulder, she pulls her mouth into a half-grimace. “Meh, mostly.”

“That’s mostly good, then,” Thomas says, before motioning towards her house. “I just heard your mom tell the twins it’s dinnertime. Maybe you should head back before she gets worried.”

René sighs, but doesn’t argue, and after a quick goodbye the kitchen is finally free from guests. Guy-Man smacks his face into the wooden counter the immediate moment the front door closes.

“If I one day vanish, assume I have gone to a place that forbids cats and children.”

Chuckling, Thomas wraps his arms around Guy-Man from behind, and lightly rests his head on the center of Guy-Man’s shoulder blades.

“Hmm, well, maybe if you stopped being so sweet and approachable, people and animals wouldn’t want to be near you all the time.”

“Oh har, har.”

* * *

The next afternoon, there’s another knock on the door. Guy-Man goes to open with irritated steps. It seems yesterday’s visit wasn’t an isolated incident, as he had hoped. However, things aren’t precisely the same. For example, after he opened yesterday, he was surprised. Today, he’s shocked.

René scurries into their home, pulling off her baseball cap to expose just how bad it is. Her hair, which yesterday was long and glossy, and frankly very pretty, now is a spiky, uneven mess that barely reaches her chin. The only thing about her that keeps him from having a heart attack is the giant smile that graces her face.

“What have you _done?!_ ” Guy-Man asks, spluttering out the words.

“Cut my hair.”

“Did… Did you use your _lawnmower?_ ”

“Actually, ours is broken, so I borrowed yours.”

He’s searching for words, simultaneously reaching out for a proper reaction as he stares at the disaster in front of him, but René beats him to it.

“You have to help me!”

Well. He knows the suitable reply for that, at least.

“No. I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!” She grabs hold of his arm and begins bouncing up and down, tugging at it as if she’s trying to yank it out of its socket. “I look awful, and if mom sees this, she’s going to force me to go to school like this tomorrow as punishment. I’ll be known as the freak with the bad hair!” She stops jumping, but doesn’t let go of his arm. Instead, the grip tightens, desperately, as she stares him with eyes as wide as plates. “Are you _really_ going to let that happen to me?”

Guy-Man’s hand rises automatically, fingers pressing against the spot his temple used to be. René, saying nothing else, continues to look at him with a hopefully pleading gaze. He sighs, frees himself from her embrace, and walks over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair.

“You are annoying,” he snaps, then points at the chair. “Sit down.”

Letting out a slight gasp, she hurries over. After retrieving a pair of scissors and a towel for her to keep around her neck, Guy-Man gets to work. Not that it’s much to work _with_. When she said she was tired of her hair, she must have meant it, because there’s barely anything left. Simply buzzing off the remains would’ve been the easiest way out, but he doesn’t tell her that. Wouldn’t want to give her any more ideas.

René is thankfully calm throughout the whole ordeal, sitting perfectly still and not once asking how much time is left until he’s done. Slowly but surely he manages to reshape her hair into something that’s appropriate for a human head. It takes time, though, as well as a bit of finesse. Things aren’t exactly made easier when Flute decides this is the ideal time for a cuddle.

“Get out of the way, Flute, you’re hairy enough already…” Guy-Man mutters as the cat prances around the tufts on the floor, stroking against every available leg she can find. Flute retorts with a loud meow. Giggling, René taps her leg, successfully making the cat jump onto her lap.

They’re almost finished when Thomas walks in on them. He stops dead in his tracks the moment he sees them, nearly dropping what he’s carrying.

“Guy-Man what are you _doing?!_ ” he exclaims.

Guy-Man slowly raises his head to look at his partner, his hand testily clasing the scissors.

“ _I_ am cleaning up _her_ mess!”

René nods vehemently. “It’s true, he is!”

“Don’t move!” Guy-Man barks, seizing her head for good measure.

She dutifully does as told, becoming immobile once more. Thomas staggers forth to the opposing chair, sinking down on shaky legs.

Soon afterwards, they’re done. René flies up from her seat, fingers raking through the short tresses. She spins around on the spot, before running up to Guy-Man. Grasping his face, she angles his head downwards, using his visor as a mirror. Two seconds consideration is all it takes before she breaks into an enormous grin.

“How does it look?” she asks, attention zooming from Guy-Man to Thomas then back again.

Thomas, hands having firmly clutched his head, straightens from his slumped position into something slightly more optimistic-looking.

“It, it looks great,” he says gently. René lights up even more. Truthfully, the new cut, coupled with her baggy clothes, make her look more like a boy than a girl. Then again, who says that’s a bad thing?

“Thank you!”

Without warning, the girl throws herself around Guy-Man’s neck, squeezing as if she was trying to strangle him. He awkwardly pats her back.

“This was a one-time thing, you hear me?” he says gruffly.

Emitting a bubbly laugh, she lets go, before eagerly making her way towards the door.

“I have to go now. If you guys don’t see me in a few days, it’s ‘cause mom locked me in the attic. If you don’t see me ever again, it’s ‘cause she murdered me. Bye!”

And with that, the door slams shut.

Following Thomas’ example, Guy-Man exhaustedly slumps onto the chair. He runs a hand down his face. Thomas chuckles softly.

“Well…” he says, quietening when Guy-Man thrusts a finger into his face.

“Next time any, and I mean _any_ , of those kids comes over, _you_ will be the one who entertains them!”

* * *

It’s not until Saturday morning that Guy-Man sees any of the neighbors again. Opening the door to let Flute out, he spots Camille standing on her driveway, coffee cup in hand. On the empty road, René is teaching Séra how to balance on a skateboard, while Sacha is sitting cross-legged on the asphalt, either a book or a notepad in his lap. Camille waves at him, and after Flute ultimately decides that she indeed wants to be outside right now, he walks up to her. Camille amiably greets him, before gesturing to the children on the road.

“Can you see that? She cut her hair! I explicitly told her ‘no’, and she did it anyway!”

Guy-Man glances at René, who’s too busy pushing Séra forward to notice her audience. He shrugs.

“It doesn’t strike me as uncharacteristic of her.”

Camille snorts. “It’s not. I didn’t even get mad at her. She came home late at night, looking like that, and I entered a state of shock. By the time I’d snapped out of it she’d already run up to her room. And the twins were asleep so I couldn’t very well yell at her.” She momentarily falls silent, watching her children while rhythmically tapping her fingers against her mug. “I’m not sure I should discipline her, either,” she at last continues. “If she had ended up hating it, that would’ve been punishment enough. But she likes it. What do you think?”

Guy-Man almost flinches at the unexpected question. He looks to the ground whilst crossing his arms, restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I think I’m the wrong person to ask…” he begins before Camille interrupts.

“Nonsense,” she says dismissively. “I can get advice from people with children anywhere. Yours will be a nice change of perspective.”

Giving it a moment’s thought, he looks up at her again, answering with resoluteness in his tone.

“No, I don’t think you should do anything.”

She raises a curious brow. “Why?”

“She’s happy. Yes, she disobeyed, but not to do anything actually bad or dangerous. Sure, it could’ve ended up regrettable, but it didn’t. She took a risk and it paid off. I think… it’s good to learn how to go your own way, to do things because you want to do them.”

Camille regards him for a long time, obviously mulling over his words. She glimpses out at the road, where René has taken both her siblings by the hand and led them onto the pavement while a car leisurely passes them by. Finally, she nods.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling, then nudges him lightly in the side. “See? Perspective.”


End file.
